


freefall

by a_monstrous



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, BDSM, Breeding, Enemies to Friends, Erotica, F/M, Fantasy Biology, Female Domination, Futanari, Hate Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Outdoor Sex, liberal use of animal biology kinda sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29347620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_monstrous/pseuds/a_monstrous
Summary: False and Impulse have their first flight, far beyond the horizon.
Relationships: FalseSymmetry/ImpulseSV
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	freefall

They're young when they get their wings, not as young as some, but enough to be braver than they should -- fly farther than they should. It's simple like that, the way youth always is. The only choice you have is fly back or fly forward -- so of course, False and Impulse end up in fierce competition as usual, flying on beyond anyone else in their squadron. Flying past the setting of the horizon, when the entire sky alights with fire and even in the throes of their usual rivalry they're laughing loud, spiraling around each other, dancing in the last kiss of daylight. It's their first true freedom, that flight, and they wouldn't give it up for the world. Too soon, the sun waves goodbye and the wind feels colder than it did before, leaving False shivering and Impulse grimacing. They share a glance, and begin a descent, realizing soon enough -- they are too far to return before morning. False spots shelter in a shallow cave, swinging her glide without grace inside, Impulse barely managing not to crash into her.

They are panting, flushed, and False speaks first. She always speaks first.

"This is your fault!"

"Me?" Impulse is incredulous, feathers flexing with indignation. "I wasn't the one who slammed into an updraft just to show off!" 

"Well, you didn't have to follow!"

"Of course I did!"

His wings are large, overwhelming, built for endurance -- he won't need to fly often, but when he does, he'll glide as an Albatross. She hates how much she envies him for that. He's imposing, backing her against a wall as his wings cage her in, and she’s learning to hate the way her breath catches at his presence. 

She's shaking, but she won't let her eyes stop glaring into his, she won't dare show fear as she lifts her chin and snaps, "No, you didn't! It was clear I was the better flier, you could've just given up!"

His eyes flash gold with anger and his words feel like lashes on her cheek, "For one, no, you aren't. Secondly, it's not about winning or losing! It's dangerous to go too far ahead, you'd be stuck out here all alone, and then what?"

She huffs, "I can take care of myself just fine without you. I'm not some silly princess."

Her words die in her throat when he grasps her chin and yanks her closer, lips barely held above her ear as his voice is a low rumble that shivers down her spine, "But you deserve to be treated like one, don't you?"

She doesn't even blink before a slap rings out, and he jerks back in surprise, raising a hand to the bright imprint on his cheek.

"First off, I'm your Queen. Kneel."

The command in her tone brokers no argument, and he slams to his knees, staring at her with wide eyes and slack jaw. She is furious, sneering as she grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back to look up at her. 

" _ Open. Your. Mouth. _ "

There is no question. Only obedience. Their chests are heaving in tandem, cheeks ablaze with fury and maybe something else. She doesn't know why, but she lets her saliva pool before she lets it fall from her lips -- and stares directly into his eyes, watches his pupils blow wide open with desire and hunger and shock -- and she doesn't even need to tell him before he swallows. His throat jumps, slow, the blush in his cheeks descending down under his shirt. 

She hates how obedient he is for her, hates how it makes her only want him more.

~~~

He's left with ears ringing, emotions strung out on a laundry line in a tornado, unable to process how quickly things had flipped. There had been a tension, sure, every sparring session had been building to something. The way she had given him bruises, and he had left her staring at him with fire in her eyes so bright it left him feeling blinded. He couldn't help himself, Icarus tearing upwards towards her sun. 

Never had he imagined that he would be here, kneeling on the cold stone of the cavern. The tension feels like it could only be cut by her claws -- which, he only knows about because he's the only one to get her riled up enough to growl and snap and snarl. To see her eyes flash multicolored, her talons unveil, and now her wings -- once small, quick and easy to turn tight corners -- grow, feathers lengthening to knives, ready to cut him open even as he knows he would beg her to.

But she never does what he expects. Not when they're trading blows, not now. Rather, she leaves him kneeling, and he doesn't dare to move.

He is frozen in time, shoulders tight, feathers bristling with need. He hears her moving, and then there's the soft crackle of a fire being started. The stone stays cold, but he's at least able to see her properly now -- and he's grateful for that as she finally moves in front of him again.

This time, he can see her pretty pink blush isn't just on her cheeks, but on her chest, held tight by a bando for training, and he is tempted to look lower but manages to keep his eyes above her belly button. Somehow.

It's killing him, this silence. They're usually both snapping back and forth, all talk and banter, but this? There's something primal in the way she prowls around him, leaving him shivering despite himself.

She speaks at least, between the crack of embers, "Undress. Don't stand."

Her irises are the barest hint of sky beyond the darkness of her need. His heart thrums hard behind his ribcage, threatening to burst out of his chest, but he manages the task. Slow, careful, as if under watch by a leopard -- he may be prey, but he allows himself to let tension ease as he arches his back. He does everything he can to make the show worth it, awkward as it gets when it comes to his pants. 

There's a twitch of a smile on her lips before she approaches, stopping his hands as they go to his boxers. Wordlessly, she reaches out with her curious fingers, and it's almost innocent, the way she tugs at his underwear. He can't help but chuckle before her glare flicks up and she rips them open. His heart leaps to his throat and he yelps, terrified of the speed with which she could've castrated him completely.

She backs up, sitting down as well, criss-crossing her legs in a way that leaves him feeling almost disappointed. 

"Touch yourself."

He blinks. She stares.

Her feathers spread, almost self-conscious, then determination seems to fill her eyes as her voice sharpens.

"Did I stutter?"

He shakes his head, struck mute by her absolute command. It's intoxicating, because it's not just the way her voice carries and echoes in the cave, but it's also the way her scent is heady, thick and full of something close to spice. He could swear it's like a freshly-baked apple pie, sweet, fresh, full of cinnamon and bite.

He obeys.

~~~

He's at her beck and call right now, and she's sure she could ask him to do anything.  _ So, why is she asking this? _

She's not sure, but her instincts have always been better to follow than ignore -- so it begins as instinct, primitive, clipped, barely thought through -- but as she takes the time to start a fire, her thoughts swim.

He's dripping a scent that she's only ever glimpsed before, not even realizing what it was then -- it's smoke and fire, sulfur and bitter coffee, overpowering as thunder's rolling footsteps through the plains. His scent simmers beneath the surface when they spar, but now it's sharp and unyielding. That scent burns and threatens to consume her every spark, but she steals against it and keeps herself steady through his storm. She nearly burns her fingers on the log, but it keeps her from drowning. His heat cracks across her body and she's grateful he can't see her as she carefully begins the slow process of removing her clothes. 

There's a flicker of embarrassment, but the methodical ritual is enough to keep her head -- she'd always slept in almost nothing, and this was nearly the same. With each article of clothing, stacked neatly by the fire, she lets her worrying fade into a dull buzz, and her thoughts slip away from saturation. There's no danger here, she's in control.

She follows the guide of her instincts, drinking in the sight of her bitter rival enraptured by her every command. It leaves her mouth watering. His body seems to crave her eyes on it, leaning like a sunflower towards her every movement as he undresses -- giving her a pleasing show that leaves her swallowing, wanting more. Caught up in the almost-ritual of his obedience, she doesn't realize what she's asking until she's sitting across from him and he hesitates.

The crashing wave of her thoughts threatens to burst the floodgates, but she grasps the lifeline that is his unabashed gaze -- open, full of want, for her. Only her.

He obeys and she realizes the need threading between them, the desire that had been behind every dare, every challenge, every strike. It's strung taught, almost takes her breath away as she realizes that this is the first time she's seen anyone in this way. The first time she's asked for anything like this. A deep rosy blush spreads across her shoulders, turning her freckles pale, and she almost tells Impulse to stop. That it's gone too far, that's she's sorry.

But it's her turn to be slack jawed as he moans her name, eyes so full of desperation and that familiar challenge, almost daring her to stop him. But she loves watching the way he twists his wrist, rubs his fingers and smears his own precum across himself, growling and grunting, every breath a curse. She knows she should turn away, but her instincts won't let her. Her instincts have her crawling towards him, and she loves the way his breath hitches, but he doesn't stop.

He wouldn't dare disobey.

She leans upward, hands on his knees, nosing at where his scent is strongest -- he hiccups a moan, left shaking and nearly in tears from the sudden overstimulation. 

"Please False..." There are tears in his eyes and she feels proud, just before she digs her claws into his bare thighs, leaving terrible marks.

"It's Your Majesty, slut."

He whimpers and it nearly unmakes her. She could be reforged though, already set ablaze hot enough to melt her steel resolve.

He's panting hard, but doesn't beg again. He knows the rules now.

She smirks, whispering in his ear as she begins to grind down on his thigh, "Do you really think I'd let you fuck me? A lowly little bitch begging to be bred, that's all you are to me right now. So be a good boy, and get your breeding hole ready for Your Queen."

She's never once imagined in her filthiest dreams that this is how she would speak, that this is what she'd want. But it hums inside her stronger than need, every word pulsing with her depraved desires.

But then again, she's only rarely even seen her own unsheathed cock.

~~~

Impulse realizes quickly what's against his thigh, and he can't even stifle the horribly needy moan that leaves his lips. There had been days where False had refused to leave her room, and he's beginning to understand why--her biology was perfectly made to be royal. Warrior as she was, she could not escape her designation, as she had been blessed with all the functions required to breed or be bred. Whatever it took to continue the royal line, she was made for it. He was sure her pretty pussy would've been divine, but can't help but be curious about this new development. Sure, he'd fingered a stablegirl before -- had his fun with a few kisses and flowers to sweeten the deal. But this was new, it wasn't his own cock now pushing between his fingers. He barely managed to contain himself, breath stuttering before he managed to imitate what he enjoyed for himself. 

Her breathing grew ragged and he was enamored with the way she felt in his hand, slowly hardening, but not quite the same as himself. He was long and curved slightly, not too thick as to be uncomfortable. But she was different, she was larger than he had expected from someone her size -- and then grew even further, twitching in his hand as her broken moan echoed.

He almost lost focus then, somehow gathering enough thought to do as she had originally asked -- fumbling for his inventory and somehow finding the potion he needed before he started to spread his legs enough to start spreading himself.

It wasn't the first time he'd experimented with himself, but somehow this felt far too new, finally dropping his gaze and feeling heat spread across his entire body. Somehow, this was worse than touching his length for her. This was opening himself, making himself completely vulnerable, all to prepare for her to fuck him. He felt fingers on his jaw, pulling him into her lips, softer than he ever had imagined she could be -- rough as she spoke, quick as she flew.

She didn't let him go, even when he struggled to breathe, invading his mouth with her tongue -- overpowering any resistance he still had by sheer force of will. The hunger washed over him, and he wanted to sink into her, shoulders falling as he groaned -- she chased that sound with her own whimper, reminding him that despite her strength, she was just as taught as a bowstring.

Their new wings rustled, scraped against stone as she slid down his body, finding where he was most sensitive -- overwhelming every sense he had as his eyelashes fluttered and he desperately squeezed his eyes shut against the stimulation. He could barely handle the knife's edge of feeling his own tightness loosen as she sucked and kissed, licked and bit, from his sensitive nipples to his thighs. He was already a broken man for her, craving every scrap of attention she deigned to give, and he forgot himself in her.

He didn't even want to find himself, not now, maybe not ever.

~~~

He looked wrecked, far from shore already and she almost despised how beautiful he was then. How the firelight gleamed off his body like a halo, despite his filthy movements. She wanted him, more than she'd wanted anything -- she craved him.

She rocked her hips slowly into his fist, getting hard, feeling her own slick spill down her shaft -- her cunt dripping, preparing her cock to take him just as her need had her trembling. She pushed forward, giving him another brush of affection despite herself to distract him from the hum of desperation that seemed to grow louder in that shallow cave. 

It was heady, rich, his scent and his sound -- all of it, she wanted him. She craved him.

His soft brown curls stuck fast to his forehead, and she brushed them away from his eyes as he looked up at her with naked vulnerability so deep it had her reeling. Her voice almost broke, ragged at the edge of the final command, "Get on all fours, I need to breed you.  _ Let me _ ."

There was no politeness, and so there was not hesitation. She managed the small kindness of moving her clothes underneath his elbows and knees, and waited till he gave a short nod and a grim grin. 

She dragged her talons down his hips, steadying herself. He tensed, until she massaged his plush cheeks, murmuring praises that soothed him enough -- she gave no warning before she was pushing into his wet, warm heat. 

His cry, pained, echoed.

She should've been ashamed by the way his flinch set her ablaze. 

Instead, she  _ wanted _ . She  _ craved _ .

**_Impulse._ **

So she barely waited for him to adjust, an almost imperceptible bow of his head and exhale, then began to go deeper, letting go of her voice. Her growl carried, her moans intertwining with his whines and whimpers. Tears slid down his cheeks, whether from pure pleasure or overstimulation, she didn't know. But he looked more beautiful than any angel, more filthy than any demon, silhouetted by firelight and taking her cock better than she ever could have imagined.

Again. Again. Again.

Her cock spread him open, had him shaking and calling her name in worship.

She wanted more.

She grunted and felt her hips start to slam properly against his ass, a quick but deep rhythm that curved upwards into him in such a way he couldn't even hold himself up, nearly collapsing onto his arms and burying his face in that makeshift pillow.

He was hers. Her alone. 

She needed him to know it.

She didn't speak, but sank her fangs into his neck, bent over his curved back, and with a shiver and a whisper of a moan, he fell apart on her cock. His entire body clenched around her perfectly, wrapping her in his heat, his scent exploding behind her eyes in sparks of color, leaving her gasping for air as she too fell apart -- at last calling his name while her wings spread wide, casting shadows across the walls that he could've sworn were those of a Goddess.

He would swear that she was more than that then, more beautiful than light itself as she came -- and he was hers. Hers only.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [RussetDown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussetDown/pseuds/RussetDown) & [AbschaumNo1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbschaumNo1/pseuds/AbschaumNo1) for the wonderful beta read, they really got this fic to be as good at it could be!
> 
> And also ty to the Unnamed Hermitship server for encouraging me to try and write fic again after so many years <3 you guys are fantastic & please keep being lovely!


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